There and back again
by dorina16able
Summary: After the end of the war, Jean leaves the walls to explore the outside world without the fear of the Titans. But no matter how far he goes, the memories and emotions of the past don't leave him alone, especially for a certain someone…but little does he know that his emotions are reciprocated.


**A/N: Hello, everyone, how are you? The new season of Attack on Titan is here and I love it, things are getting crazier and crazier and I came up with this fic. Jeansasha is my OTP, I simply adore them and they're my two favorite characters, so here we are, hope you like it ;) It contains some spoilers for those who haven't read the manga, so be warned!**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own the Attack on Titan universe in any way.**

If someone had told Jean, back when he joined the military, that he would one day leave the walls to see what lay outside, he would consider them completely mental.

Of course he had to listen to Armin's rambling about all the strange sceneries non-stop—mountain ranges that went on for miles and endless amounts of water named oceans and vast hills—but he was way too snobbish and arrogant back then to think about all that. All he dreamed of was graduating at the top of the class and living a peaceful life in Wall Sina as a member of the Military Police.

When Marco died—he still winces in grief and anger when he remembers how he found his body and how exactly his best friend ended up dead—and he realized that fighting was their only chance to gain their freedom, resulting in him joining the Survey Corps, he started paying more attention to Armin's stories and even asked him a few questions once or twice. Still, that was exactly what they were: stories, a distant dream, something to give him hope in the darkest days... His wishes had changed: from spending the rest of his life with the MPs, he now dreamed of freeing humanity from those monsters, coming out of the battle alive and live quietly with his mother and friends in Trost.

 _And especially a certain someone, don't forget her_ , his inner voice, which sounded oddly similar to Marco's, used to remind him, but he quickly pushed this thought aside; because, if the aforementioned dream seemed distant to him, this one seemed impossible to ever come true...even more impossible than the hopeless and awkward crush he had on Mikasa when he enlisted to the trainees.

When the moment of victory finally came, though, and the Ape Titan was slaughtered and the former members of the 104th took a breath of relief after everything they had lived, including Bertholdt's death and Annie and Reiner's interrogations and executions, then Jean made up his mind. Freedom was finally there, yet he still couldn't find rest; there was too much haunting him and he would never find peace if he stayed. When he asked the Shiganshina Trio if they would accept him in their travels around the now free world, Eren stared at him as if he had grown a second head, Mikasa didn't show anything and Armin simply smiled.

Connie had an angry gaze when he said goodbye, but his voice was calm when he told him he hoped he would find what he was looking for. He was planning to go with Sasha to her father for a while and then the two of them would probably settle down at Trost, too uncertain of the outside world to explore it. Jean was glad that the two of them would look after each other; they used to get on his nerves with their cheerfulness, but he's come a long way since then; not to mention that after everything it will do them good to stay together and keep each other on their toes.

Sasha didn't say anything, but the way she lowered her head and fought with tears and gave him a small smile to not cry in front of him spoke volumes for him. At that moment Jean wanted to hug her as tightly as he could, comfort her and assure her that he would return, that everything would be alright.

In the end, and thinking that this would make it worse for her, he only squeezed her shoulder and playfully ruffled her hair…an apparently simple gesture that spoke volumes as well.

* * *

This was three years ago.

Three years since Jean left the walls for an unknown destination.

Three years since he saw his mother, Sasha, Connie, Commander Hanji and the rest of the remaining Survey Corps.

He wrote them whenever he could—brief letters when he, Eren, Armin and Mikasa found some town or village, or messages in the form of reports for Hanji, so that she knew how the world looked like—but messages are nothing compared to seeing them, to listen to them…nothing compared to be lost in the embrace of someone important.

He has to admit, it has been a very educational time, listening to Armin explaining every single detail, observing the scenery (Hanji and his mother will be excited to know) and even mentally noting down the food recipes (Sasha will love it). The other three never treated him as an outsider and who knew that there would be one day when he and Eren would actually become buddies? And who knew that he would love the outside world so much, a place he considered dangerous a few years ago? Still, it's not what he wants to do with his life, there's still something missing…or, rather, _someone._

After the initial denial and after suppressing feelings for years in order to focus on the war, now he can finally and truly accept them, admit them out loud…and let's hope that _she_ won't send him away. Truth be told, he didn't tell her anything, not even on the day of his departure…he didn't beg her to wait for him or give any promises to her…nothing she can use as an accusation of him abandoning her. But the nervousness is there, combined with this unmistakable feeling of anticipation; after all, he will see her for the first time in three years and he wonders how she will be and if she will be different.

When he announces that he'll return to Trost, Mikasa wishes him good luck with her trademark unreadable expression, Eren punches him playfully on the arm and tells him to take care of himself and Armin smiles knowingly as he pleads him to greet their friends from them.

So knowingly, actually, that Jean keeps wondering how much Armin truly knows.

* * *

The only certain thing is that Trost looks different and same simultaneously.

Jean can't explain that exactly: at one moment memories of a happy childhood and of his military training invade his mind as he recognizes alleys and streets where he used to play as a child or used to patrol. And the next second everything is so changed that nothing reminds him of his hometown: new shops have been opened, new families have settled in and his mother, who bursts in sobs in his arms when she sees him, looks fragile on one hand—weak after the hardships the Trost residents had been through because of the Titans—and strong and toughened on the other—she squeezes his shoulders and places her hands on both sides of his face as a silent way to tell him that she's fiercely proud of her boy. To be honest, he loves being back, he loves being able to hug his mother again and he loves the new house she has settled in, warm and cozy as it is. Still, he can only sleep for a couple of hours, too anxious because of what the next day will bring.

Of course his mother sees right through him. He couldn't hide anything from her, even when he was an arrogant brat who hid his fears behind a mask of arrogance and aggression. The way she looks at him when she hands him a cup of warm milk and her smile, which is comforting and sly at the same time, scream at him that she knows exactly what emotional turmoil he's going through.

"Go find them, my boy," she tells him calmly and caresses his cheek, just like when he was a kid and he had nightmares. "You haven't seen them for years…they deserve to see you and you deserve to know how they are."

And this time, Jean decides to follow her advice without any other objections.

* * *

In the end, finding them proves to be way easier than he had feared.

Because, seriously, who else except Sasha would name their small restaurant _The Baked Potato_? Jean stands outside, looking at the beautifully painted plaque over the door and can't help but smile tenderly at the memories of his little Potato Girl. That infamous first day of training when she got in trouble with Shadis because of the potato she was eating; how she used to annoy him with her pranks and that smile of hers that lightened everyone's mood even in the darkest days; how he started growing fond of her, _needing_ those jokes of hers to gain courage and at the same time comforting her when she had her own bad moments; how she yelled at him whenever he called her with her nickname and how he teased her afterwards; how amazing she was with her bow and arrow, turning from funny and giggling to a fierce fighter; her fear when he almost died at the hands of that Military Police girl and how he apologized to her afterwards for scaring the hell out of her; her obvious sadness when he left, a permanent thorn in his three-year-absence.

 _And despite all that…despite pretending she didn't like the nickname 'Potato Girl', apparently she likes it now...another thing that has changed_ , Jean thinks as he takes a deep breath before opening the door and stepping inside.

Here goes nothing.

It's too early for the restaurant to be full of customers and only two or three tables are taken, with friends or families having their breakfast. He feels the curious glances towards him and his dark green Scout Regiment cloak with the Wings of Freedom emblem on the back—yes, he has kept the cloak as a reminder of his soldier days and to keep him warm at nights, when the bad dreams are particularly nasty. He doesn't pay much attention to these stares, though, because right now he recognizes Connie, who serves tea at a table. From Jean's position, his friend hasn't changed at all, with his buzz cut and his overenthusiastic movements—it's a wonder how he hasn't dropped anything yet.

But then Connie looks up, alerted by the soft chiming of the bell above the door…and when he spots him, it's pure luck that his tray is empty, otherwise he _would_ drop everything and create a huge mess in the hall. Jean chuckles inaudibly and shakes his head: no matter how many years will pass, Connie will always stay the same Connie from their military years.

Connie approaches him and Jean unwillingly makes a step backwards, as if fearing that he's about to get punched in the face. He's met with a surprise, though, because, instead of a punch, he's greeted with a smirk and a witty "So, you're still alive, eh?" by the shorter guy, who stretches his arm out in a high-five gesture, which he returns without hesitation.

"Good to see you, man." Jean replies and smirks as well; it _does_ feel good, seeing friendly faces again, especially when said friend isn't totally angry at you for leaving. "Well, here I am."

"What, didn't find what you were looking for in the end?" Connie asks him and now the teasing in his voice is more than obvious.

"Oh, it was really interesting…the constant change of scenery and all that, you know; and it did me good, to be away from here after…after everything." Jean doesn't want to elaborate and, thank God, there's no need to, because Connie understands exactly what he's talking about. "But it wasn't…it wasn't home," he concludes and the old Jean would smack himself mentally for being so freaking sentimental, but the old Jean stopped existing long ago.

Connie doesn't mock him, like he expected him to do; on the contrary, his smile disappears and he nods as a sign of understanding. He'll never admit it out loud, but he knows what Jean means: after all, and despite the memories and nightmares still haunting him and Sasha, they have accepted that it's over their strength to leave Trost, to go to their villages or outside the walls.

But today is supposed to be a day of happy reunions; the time to share painful memories of lost friends and battles will surely come, but not now. Which is why Jean quickly changes the subject, wears his smile again and looks around, trying to spot a certain someone. "Connie, is Sasha—?"

"Ah, she's fine, she's doing all the cooking, of course, doesn't allow me to help her even when her hands are full." Connie laughs and gestures towards a door at the back of the restaurant. "And now that you're here, she'll be more than fine."

Jean stares at him with a Seriously-don't-start-the-implies-now-man-I'm-too-nervous-already, but Connie doesn't say anything, laughs again and pushes him towards the door with a pat on his shoulder and the comment that the three of them will have all the time to catch up. He takes a deep breath, calms down and there he goes, to the heart of the restaurant: the kitchens—no wonder Sasha has claimed this place as her own, although it's a miracle how she doesn't eat everything before the meals go to the customers.

The sounds of water running and someone rubbing a plate are the only ones in the medium-sized room, which is way cleaner and tidier than Jean would ever trust Sasha to be. Still, it's neat in here, meat and fish stocked on one side, fruit and vegetables on another, the drinks at a corner; counters with pots and frying pans in the middle; and at the back of the room, which is where the sounds come from, is a series of sinks, Sasha standing in front of one, the sleeves of her blouse rolled up and washing a plate. The noise covers his steps and Jean simply watches her for a few seconds. He swears she's slightly taller now and her hair isn't tied in her trademark ponytail, but in a bun, obviously to not disturb her during the work.

"Sash!" he can't control himself, he speaks before he even realizes it himself and his voice has a hint of joy and still sounds frailer than he wants to, combined with the spontaneous nickname he's using for the first time. Apparently it works, though, because she jolts her head up and the plate falls from her hands and into the sink and Jean feels slightly guilty: not only because he didn't mean to scare her, but also because he wonders if she's always like that, on edge, as a result of the war.

Sasha turns towards him slowly, as if she doesn't dare believe that the voice she heard belongs to him. Jean can't stop the soft gasp he leaves: oh, yes, she _has_ grown up, she looks way more mature than he remembers and she's even more beautiful now, with a few strands of hair falling from her bun and framing her fair face and that expression, innocent and alerted simultaneously. But in her hazel eyes that look at him full of hope he can still see the girl of the past, the one who would go on endless errands about food and comfort everyone in her own way and joke when they needed it the most. She doesn't say anything, just dries her hands on her apron and stares at him...and Jean hates that, he wants to break the tension and, thankfully, the sight of her cleaning gave him just the idea.

"So, after the cook-off you want to try that clean-off?" he asks and can't help but smirk: he was too stubborn back then, when Pixis had suggested the competition between them, but in the end it was the first step for him to start liking Sasha instead of considering her annoying.

She leaves a broken chuckle, as if the question is the confirmation she needs that it _is_ him; and before Jean can comprehend what's going on, she has run into his arms, hugging him so tightly that he stops breathing for a second before embracing her too, a hand rubbing her back comfortingly as her shoulders start shaking lightly. Sasha hides her head in the crook of his neck, grabs the fabric of his cloak tightly, trying to hold him in place; not that Jean is leaving any moment in the near future, anyway.

"Don't think that you'd beat me in the clean-off too, you idiot," she whispers gently and Jean feels her teary smile against his neck, which makes him tighten his grip around her even more. He doesn't know what to tell her to soothe her, he never was good with words and he tries to pass the message silently, by resting his chin on the top of her head, his lips touching her hair in a small and awkward kiss; still, right now, it truly dawns on him that he's home.

"Of course I wouldn't," he maintains the joke, realizing that it's helping Sasha feel better, that these tears aren't just tears of happiness due to his return, but also tears because of his departure in the first place.

"You back for good?" she wants to know next and nuzzles him further, needing to hear him saying it and Jean can't blame her, both of them have lost too many people to handle another loss.

"I'm back, Sasha. For good," he answers and he means it.

Eventually they have to pull away—Sasha wipes her tears with her wrists and Jean takes a deep breath and messes her hair up to make her smile —because reality sets in again. Connie knocks at the door giving Sasha the new customers' order, Sasha rushes at the pans to make omelets and sausages and Jean makes himself comfortable at a table, watching the scene around him in amusement and chatting with Connie whenever he has time.

Hours later, when the sun has set and the restaurant has closed, the three of them finally have time for themselves. They sit at the bar with pots of tea and a huge variety of food that would be enough for the entire Survey Corps and not only the three of them—and man has Jean missed Sasha's cooking. It's relaxed and carefree as Connie and Sasha inform Jean about the small details of their life—busy at the restaurant, Connie never cleans his room, Sasha wakes him up before sunrise with her hyperactivity—and Jean tells them about his journeys. Not many words, they have time for that, just general descriptions and news from Eren, Mikasa and Armin.

And as the tavern echoes with their laughter, Jean finally feels that he's found what he was looking for.

* * *

One week after his return, he moves in with them at their house. They've been practically begging him to since day one and his mother has no objections, understanding how important it is for the three former soldiers to be together now that everything is over.

The house is small, but comfortable and distantly reminds Jean of the hideout the Scout Regiment had used for a period of time after the Battle in Stohess. Sitting room and kitchen build a single room and there's also space for a small bathroom and the three bedrooms. Jean feels like home almost immediately; there is a warmth he has missed for three years now; because sleeping in the open or in the inns where he and the others rested in the outside world can't be considered 'home'. He spends the entire day settling in and writing another report to Hanji—the Survey Corps as they remember it doesn't exist anymore, but Hanji, who's always thirsty about new knowledge, will surely need the information he carries.

It's still too early to talk about the lands outside the walls as places where the entire population can live—the towns and villages he discovered with his friends were either deserted or occupied by only few people, struck by the Titans and the war—and it will probably take many years before the first families can go to live there. But it is still an optimistic thought, the fact that they _have_ new places to think about, not to mention that it gives them immense satisfaction: it is basically the proof that they made it, that the world is finally free from the Titans.

Such thoughts are easy to cross someone's mind during the day, but the night is a whole other story and never a good advisor. Night brings back all the negative things everyone is trying to suppress, brings nightmares or doesn't even let you sleep. Jean has had too many nights like that, when he lay on the bed, staring at the dark ceiling, unable to close his eyes and forget everything and everyone for a few hours; and he's sure that it's the same for Connie and Sasha, even if during the day they appear as cheerful.

True enough, when Connie bids them goodnight and retreats in his room and when Jean stays alone with Sasha—although he tries _very_ hard not to show how much he enjoys that—and when the two of them sit on the floor in front of the fireplace, each with a blanket around their shoulders, that's when the happiness fades away and leaves a bittersweet sensation behind, something melancholic that hangs in the air. Sasha lays her head on his shoulder and Jean mentally orders his heart to stop acting like an idiot and beating like crazy; he feels the drama behind this gesture and can't even start to imagine the terrors that have haunted Sasha's nights, during and after the war, and her need to lean on someone and be assured that everything is alright.

He starts talking to fill the silence and to distract her mind from whatever doesn't allow her to rest. Everything about his three-year-long absence comes out: right now he doesn't talk about magnificent sceneries, but about his dread when he first exited the walls to begin the journey to the unknown, the fear whenever they discovered a new town, wondering what they would find, the constant feeling of nostalgia, especially at nights, when he thought about all those he left behind. He doesn't talk about Marco, Levi's squad, Reiner, Bertholdt, Annie and all those who perished during the war or those who betrayed them; everyone has talked too much about them and it still won't be enough, it will always hurt; and, judging from the soft squeeze Sasha gives to his hand, she understands that they are still in his thoughts, anyway.

"These three years…" she starts when he finishes, having gained courage from their proximity and his talking, "they weren't always easy, you know. Not just because you weren't here, so don't even start blaming yourself, you're carrying too many burdens for your own good as it is. But before we opened the restaurant…" she makes a small pause and Jean doesn't push her, giving her the time she needs, "it was hard to get used to freedom. We always looked behind our backs, feared that a Titan would jump from the next corner…and don't think that just because Connie doesn't talk he's gotten over what happened at his village and seeing his mom…like that.

"Anyway, things got much better when we opened the restaurant," she went on with that soft voice that reminds Jean nothing of the enthusiastic and sly tone she once had. "Work is a welcome distraction, it's nice to see new people or regular customers every day, talking to them, cooking their favorite meals. But some nights are still so difficult…"

Her voice fades, the last words lingering in the atmosphere, but Jean doesn't need her to elaborate. He nods and gently pats her hair to comfort her, smiling when he feels her relax a bit. "The scars will never leave, Sash," he whispers, his eyes locked on the flames in front of him. "What we lived, it…it made us who we are, it made our lives and our nights as they are now. The only thing we can do is…to accept they're here, try to live with them; it's the only way to stop them from driving us crazy!"

Sasha nods against his shoulder and sleepily hums in agreement; Jean only hopes that she will sleep calmly tonight. He isn't in the mood to sleep: he's only here for a week and his mother, the reunion with his friends, the moving into their home, all this is enough to keep him awake until dawn. He lets Sasha use his shoulder as a pillow, though, afraid that he will wake her if he carries her to her room.

 _Yes, Jean, that's_ _the_ only _reason_ , _not that you like that you two are here together and that you talked and that she's comfortable enough around you to open up and sleep on you_ , his Marco-like inner voice speaks again and Jean doesn't even want to master his logic and disagree; because, even if he _does_ like it and even if Sasha's head falls on his lap sometime during the night and he likes that more, then what of it?

He stays up, lost in his thoughts, his one arm resting relaxed beside him and the other one wrapped around Sasha, occasionally caressing her hand: lightly enough to not disturb her and tenderly enough to assure her that he's with her.

That's how Connie finds them the next morning and both Jean and Sasha don't hear the end of his teasing for a month at least.

Sasha doesn't mind and acts normally, throwing a cushion at him and telling him laughing to shut up.

Funny thing is, Jean doesn't mind either.

* * *

The ripple in the water, the big change, occurs, what a surprise (note sarcasm here), because of one of his nightmares.

It is one of those that haunt him often: he's in the middle of the battlefield, fighting with his friends and watching them being devoured one by one by Reiner, Bertholdt and Annie in their Titan forms, unable to move and save them. Usually his friends don't have their facial features—a sign, as Jean suspects, of the many comrades that got killed during the war—or Marco is the only one visible. This time, though, he sees _all_ of them: Marco begging for help, Eren resisting until the last second, Mikasa stoically accepting the end, Connie yelling in fear, Mina crying with sobs, Armin shaking violently…and Sasha, Sasha screaming his name, a desperate call for help. Jean, though, can't move to rush to her side and the only thing he can do is watch in horror.

That's where he wakes up, bathed in cold sweat that's mixed with the tears that run down his face and he barely suppresses the terrified scream that threatens to escape his lips. It doesn't work, though, because at the sound of his muffled cry, both Sasha and Connie enter his room with quick steps, Connie holding a glass of water and Sasha sitting next to him and drawing soothing circles on his back. He accepts the glass, drinks a few sips and then places it on the small bedside table, but he avoids his friends' eyes during all that, ashamed for his own vulnerability. The voice inside him tell him not to be stupid, that Connie and Sasha won't think he's weak, but not even this can make him feel better. He only hears Sasha whispering something to Connie, but he only catches some scattered phrases and doesn't understand what she's saying, while the next sound is only Connie's retreating steps.

"Sorry, Sasha, I didn't mean to wake you two," he says softly and blindly reaches for her free hand—he finds it rather quickly and holds it tightly as she squeezes it, giving him some strength back. "Go back to sleep, I'll be fine."

"Don't. Don't do this to yourself, Jean, please," she scolds him softly and now her thumb is tracing gentle patterns on the back of his hand that match the ones she draws on his back, making him lean towards her. "I've been in that stage myself and it's a trap you _must_ avoid: shutting yourself out will make it only worse! Please, talk to me, you're not alone!"

And it's this last sentence, this assurance that he's not alone, that makes Jean finally raise his head and look at her in the glow of the candle that he put on the bedside table before going to sleep. Her lovely features, despite the frown that marks them, softens at the warm light, her brown hair is falling loosely on her shoulders and her expression is so sweet and caring that Jean spontaneously pulls her closer to him to wrap her in his arms as a way to express what he can't say verbally. Sasha doesn't gasp in surprise like he expects her to, quite the contrary, she hugs him back and rests her head on his shoulder, resuming the caressing on his back to silently tell him that it's totally normal to be upset and to burst out.

Jean doesn't know how long they stay like that, but when he can think clearly again his tears have stopped, Sasha has pulled away from his hug and they are both lying down on their sides, facing each other. Now Sasha is the one with tears in her eyes, but she does her best to swallow them and to control her voice so it doesn't shake; Jean, on the other hand, takes a deep breath and takes her hand in his, stroking it with feather-light touches and never breaking his gaze from hers. The sadness is still here and surely Sasha's tears have appeared because she has remembered her own night terrors, but right now there's also the connection they have built due to their mutual understanding and a sense of content that overwhelms both of them.

"The scars won't ever leave, Jean. We can only accept them and try to live with them," she repeats what he told her the night he moved in; her voice _is_ slightly shaky, but she squeezes his hand and that helps her calm down. "I don't say it'll be easy, but…you can do it."

Jean smiles at her to say that she's right and that he thanks her for staying with him when he needs it the most instead of going away. But there is something in her eyes and his smile falters as he stares intently at her, begging her to tell him what's bothering her now—and she responds to his quiet plea.

"I…I already told you how…how it wasn't always easy these three years…without you…My dreams…You getting hurt or worse…Those were…always the worst." Now she can't stop the tear that runs down her cheek and Jean gasps, wanting to ease her pain, to hold her and never let her go, to promise her that he won't leave her again because _she_ is the reason he returned in the first place, the one missing from his journeys that didn't allow him to find home outside of the walls.

Apparently, though, she has made similar thoughts during these years, because she leans forward and her lips brush against his jaw: a simple and chaste kiss that holds comfort and emotion and happiness that he's here—and now Jean feels warm and complete. Sasha presses her forehead on his shoulder, seeking proximity and wanting to hide her blush at the same time, but it's too late: Jean has already caught the light shade of pink tinting her cheeks and he chuckles good-heartedly as he plays with her hair; a gesture both of them have grown to love, giving messages of feelings and of comfort to each other.

"Missed you so much," she whispers against his shoulder, her voice muffled but still clear in his ears. "I'm so happy you returned."

And right now Jean can't stop himself anymore, taking courage from her words and mentally saying _To hell with it, tell her_. He pulls slightly away so their gazes meet again, Sasha's eyes reflecting insecurity and his own reflecting a new-found joy. His hand gently cradles her cheek and now it's his turn to lean forward and kiss her properly this time. It's soft and tender, a confession of love and an apology for his leaving simultaneously, and perfect for both of them, because Jean can feel her initial gasp of surprise and then her smile as she kisses him back—and now the pain due to the scars and the wounds of the past fades away.

It's too early to completely disappear—if it will disappear at all, which is unlikely. There will be many difficult nights and bad moments, with lingering sadness and nightmares that will have them waking up screaming and seeking solace in each other's arms. But they will figure this out, the two of them and Connie, and right now it's the last they want to think about as they pull away and Jean presses his forehead against hers and Sasha gives him her most radiant smile.

"I'm happy to be back too, Sasha."

* * *

 **A/N: *takes a deep breath from all the fluff* Woo, it turned out longer than I had estimated, but I enjoyed writing nonetheless ;) Hope you liked it too, guys :D  
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